


The Smell of Defeat

by Vandrerska



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies), Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: (Asking me to write 'dark erotic'?), (Hope the style can make up for… a lot.), (Not good for public health.), Abduction, Angst, Bittersweet Ending, Dubious Consent, Emotional Manipulation, Grindeldore Valentine's Day Exchange 2020, M/M, Self-Harm, Smut, Suicide Attempt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-25
Updated: 2020-02-25
Packaged: 2021-02-28 05:54:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,874
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22899079
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vandrerska/pseuds/Vandrerska
Summary: Albus gets captured by Gellert. Gellert decides to test a hypothesis.It all goes horribly wrong.
Relationships: Albus Dumbledore/Gellert Grindelwald
Comments: 19
Kudos: 131





	The Smell of Defeat

**Author's Note:**

  * For [comradecourt](https://archiveofourown.org/users/comradecourt/gifts).



> My contribution to the Grindeldore Valentine's Day Exchange 2020.
> 
> For comradecourt  
> Your prompt was: 'dark erotic fic of Albus captured by Gellert during the war' (I have to admit I kind of forgot about the war bit)  
> I sincerely hope you like what I've done with it. It's rather intense, but I'm afraid that holds true for most of my writing, and when I'm given a prompt like that…  
> Anyway.
> 
> I can't even begin to express my thanks to IhaveAbadfeelingAboutThis.  
> For betaing this fic, and - tbh - for betaing me as well.  
> Thank you so much.

_’The grave that they dug him had flowers’  
_ _(The Grave, Don McLean)_

Albus turned his head on the pillow. The scent that was creeping up his nostrils… he grabbed blindly at his sheets, not opening his eyes, and pressed them against his lips. The detached odour of pebbles polished in an icy stream – a hint of pine, a whiff of cedar – the warm animalistic smell of untreated leather – a tinge of ridiculously old and musty archives – and, finally, the scent you could trace on the palms of the hands of a dancer, just as he lets go of your hands…  
Albus inhaled deeply. He hadn’t smelled this in years. It was so wonderful, so painful, so… Gellert.  
He opened his eyes in shock.

He was lying on a bed in a room he’d never seen before, though the lavish pitch-black curtains, the high-pile burgundy carpets, the grandeur oozing out of every carving on every piece of furniture all pointed to one man, and one man alone. The blond wizard leaning back in an armchair, halfway across the room, smiling, his legs crossed casually.  
Gellert Grindelwald.

Albus quickly cast a Protego – or would have done so, if he could have. Terrified, he looked down at his hands. On each of his wrists, there was an elegant tattoo of small, pale blue, interlacing flowers, forming a wreath all the way round. Restricting his magic.  
Gellert’s smile became wider.  
”Alchen, I see you’ve finally woken up. Welcome to Nurmengard.”  
”Gellert”, Albus whispered. ”What have you done?”  
”No, no, no. What have _you_ done, _Liebling_?”  
Albus looked at him, blankly.  
”Oh dear, he’s losing his memory already, and we haven’t even _done_ anything. What about that statement in The Daily Prophet: ’I’m afraid Grindelwald greatly overestimates his own popularity. If only people could see what’s behind the facade and realise that he doesn’t really have their best interests at heart, they would turn their backs on him immediately.’ ”

Albus’ throat went dry. ”I didn’t really mean... The Prophet twisted…”  
”I am willing to give you the benefit of the doubt on that, but I have to admit I was most intrigued by your theory. So intrigued I had to test it. So, I brought in my favourite test subject.”  
”And this is the first step in your little experiment - taking my magic away from me?” Albus huffed, ”Are you such a coward, Gellert, that you need these petty little tricks to establish your dominance over me?”  
”I concede it may come across as excessive, but we both know how feisty you can get. Remember, back in 1899? Your sister might still be alive, if you hadn’t…”  
”DON’T YOU DARE!”

Albus jumped upright and threw himself at Gellert. However, before he could even come near him, he was hurled back onto the bed, his hands tied behind him.  
”Is this how you’re planning to go about it?” Albus scoffed, almost triumphantly. ”Tying me up? Torturing me? Will you perhaps even go so far as to rape me?”  
Gellert grinned. He stood up and sauntered over to the bed, his hands clasped behind his back. He stared down at Albus.  
”What would be the fun in that? Have you at my mercy? You already are. Touch you when you don’t want me to? Could do it any time. It’s hardly a challenge. But getting you to a point where you would beg for me to touch you… _That’s_ where it gets interesting.”

Albus cast his eyes down. He swallowed.  
”Then we’ll see if it truly is the case that people who know who and what I really am, will turn their back on me.”  
”You know that’s never going to happen.”  
”We’ll see, Alchen, we’ll see.”  
Gellert smiled again and took a few steps back.  
”These are my private quarters. You will stay here for the duration of our experiment. Breakfast, lunch, and dinner will be brought up here, but there are sweets in the cupboard over there. Make yourself comfortable. The bathroom, my private library, they are all yours. You’ll find fitting clothes and a nightgown in the wardrobe. ”  
Albus’ eyes shifted for just a fraction of second, scanning the room, but it didn’t escape Gellert’s notice.  
”There is, however, only one bed.” Gellert said lightly, and headed for the door.  
”Don’t forget to have a look at the flowers.”  
He snapped his fingers and left. The ropes around Albus’ wrists disappeared.  
Albus massaged the irritated skin, his fingers almost subconsciously trying to rub out the tattoos, the markings that held him captive. Dainty, pale blue flowers.  
Some species of the Myosotis genus.  
Forget-me-nots.

-

It was the third night of Albus’ captivity, the third night he had spent sleeping on the carpet, under a blanket he’d ripped off of the bed. His back was starting to ache, and he had a sore spot on his left arm where his shoulder was digging into the stone floor – high-pile carpet notwithstanding.

Gellert had stayed true to his word. Not once had he tried to touch him, physically or magically. He left early in the morning and returned long after Albus had eaten dinner. The rooms were so comfortable – a blazing fire in the hearth, a luxurious bathroom, an extensive collection of rare books, reaching from floor to ceiling – that Albus could almost imagine himself being on holiday. Could forget he was a rat in maze, could forget whose face was hovering over the maze, the long blond curls blocking out the light, smiling, smiling, smiling while Albus frantically tried to find a way out.

But how would he ever be able to? How could he forget, even for a moment, when everything in this room screamed and sang and shouted Gellert. From the books on magical artefacts in the most obscure languages carefully ordered on a shelf above the extravagant crystal wine glasses and decanters, all the way to the patterns in the leaded windows.

He would’ve managed though - closed his eyes and kept them clenched shut for the entire day, for days on end - were it not for the scent. He couldn’t escape the scent. The leather and the cedar, the pine, the pebbles, the hands of the dancer, they followed him wherever he went. It entranced him. Left him longing, wanting. That day, he had even let his head rest on Gellert’s pillow, ever so briefly, just to savour the scent more fully.

Now, he lay awake. Fighting the urge to climb onto that bed again, to press his nose into that pillow again. Or into the soft, blond hair sprawled over it.

-

On the sixth night, Albus had almost fallen asleep, exhausted from the previous restless nights, when Gellert entered the room. He didn’t light the candles, just used the glowing tip of his wand to guide him through the pitch-black room. Albus heard him changing into his night clothes, heard him climb into bed. Gellert must have assumed he was fast sleep. Albus closed his eyes again, ready to drift off. Then, he heard the rustle of sheet, of clothes, and a small hitch in Gellert’s breath. He thought - he hoped – he was imagining things, but then there was another rustle and a breathy moan. Albus stiffened. Gellert couldn’t be serious. Even he wouldn’t – a louder moan ripped through the silence.

Disgusted, Albus stood up and locked himself in the bathroom. Disgusted, he felt utterly disgusted. He went to sit on the toilet lid, his face buried in his hands. By now, he could hear Gellert moan through the bathroom door. His fingers dug into his scalp. Disgusting, that’s all it was. Disgusting.

When he returned to the main room, after what felt like hours, everything was quiet. The room smelled more intensely of Gellert than ever before. Albus lay on the ground, staring into the dark, his fists clenched in the blanket, a single tear rolling down his cheek.

-

The next day, he tried to escape. He tried the door, but as soon as he came near it, the tattoos on his wrists started glowing ominously and he found he couldn’t even touch the doorknob. He started pacing the room. The door wasn’t an option. Neither were the windows – the fortress was perched on a cliff – as long as he didn’t have access to his magic, he was sure to fall and die. The house elves that brought his food? Gellert had thought of that too. The elves appeared and disappeared with a pop, never using the door, and the tattoos didn’t allow him to come near them either.

All the physical escape routes were closed, then. What about the other ones? Bribery, threats… no, he had no leverage whatsoever. Without his magic, he was not in the least intimidating to Gellert, and as to bribery… the only things Gellert had ever been interested in were his extraordinary mind and his body. He wasn’t going to offer the first, and he didn’t even know if Gellert was still interested in the latter. Riling him up then, making him so angry that he wouldn’t be able to contain himself any longer, that he would attack Albus, punch him or…  
Albus closed his eyes. This wasn’t planning an escape. This was – he bit his knuckle, disgusted with himself – devising a strategy so that Gellert would touch him without him having to ask for it.  
That evening, when Gellert came back, Albus refused to meet his eye.

-

On the eleventh night, Albus smashed a crystal wine glass against the door frame. He took a shard in his right hand and – looking Gellert straight in the eye – made a cut in his left wrist. Small droplets of blood started to well up, got bigger and bigger until the first drop fell onto the expensive high-pile carpet. Gellert remained unmoved. He walked over to Albus – and for a moment Albus was sure Gellert was going to take his wrist in his hand – but he merely pointed the Elder Wand at Albus’ forearm. The cut healed immediately. Albus glanced down at his wrist, and up at Gellert again. The other wizard looked at him for a few seconds, an unreadable expression on his face, before he turned around and went to sit at his writing desk again. Silently, Albus started to clean up the broken glass, pushing his fingers hard into the splinters in attempt to distract himself from the razor-sharp pain in his chest.

-

On the fourteenth night, Albus carefully gathered all his feelings – the shame, the guilt, the self-loathing, the bitterness, the helplessness – wrapped them in wrapping tissue paper and placed them in a box. He closed the lid, his hands trembling at the thought of it bursting open again, later, when he would miserable and totally incapable of handling it.  
Then, he took a deep breath and turned to an ornate chest he’d sworn to never ever open again.

Albus stood up and shuffled towards the bed. The room was pitch black but he knew exactly where he had to be, and even if he hadn’t, Gellert’s luring scent was there to guide him. He let himself be lured, climbed onto the bed, and lay down next to the man he’d never stopped desiring, not a single moment in all those years. Gellert didn’t move, but Albus could hear he wasn’t sleeping.  
Slowly, very slowly, Albus raised his left hand, until his fingers brushed over the other man’s shoulder. As he let them trail over Gellert’s back through the sheets, he felt as if he was about to access a forbidden vault in Gringotts, about to be sucked inside, never to be released again.

Gellert still hadn’t moved. Albus swallowed.  
”I want you.” He confessed quietly.

The sheets rustled. He felt Gellert turning and then his hot breath was on Albus’ face. Albus couldn’t bear it. He moved his hands up clumsily, cupped Gellert’s face and started to kiss him as if his life depended on it. His kisses were rough, hungry, the wordless pleas of a starving man. He sucked on Gellert’s lower lip, bit on it, in a desperate attempt to get him to open his mouth. But the other man drew back.  
”Where have all those principles gone, Alchen?” He whispered in his ear. ”I thought you were disgusted with me? What happened to the sneers, the self-righteousness, the contempt…”  
”Please, Gellert, please,” Albus breathed.  
”Alright, my darling. I’ll give you what you seek. But you have to ask for it. For every single bit of it. This is your choice, and yours alone.”  
”Kiss me,” Albus said immediately. ”Please, Gellert, kiss me.”  
Gellert pressed his lips to Albus’ and Albus started plundering his mouth. He sucked on Gellert’s tongue, as if he wanted to devour it whole, his hands tangled in Gellert’s soft, silken hair. Albus broke free, gasping, and buried his face into the crook of Gellert’s neck, inhaling deeply, desperately. His arm slid around the other’s waist pressing him closer.  
”What do you want, Albus?”  
”I want to smell you, I want to taste you. I want you. I want you so badly. Please, let me have you.”  
”Go ahead, Liebe”

Albus slid under the sheets, pushed up Gellert’s nightshirt, let his head rest high on Gellert’s left thigh. He buried his nose in the curls there, drank in the scent. That scent. Albus felt tears prickle in his eyes. He nuzzled Gellert’s cock, his fingers digging deep into the flesh of the opposite thigh. The sheets cocooning around him, around them, keeping that lovely, precious smell close to him. This smelled like home, felt like home. He rubbed his cheek up and down the other’s length, up and down, tears streaming down his face. Finally home.  
  
And there was more. He could have more.

”Gellert, c-can I suck you off?” His voice sounded frail, child-like. Pleading.  
”Of course, you can.” Gellert said reassuringly.  
Albus started running his tongue along the shaft of Gellert’s cock. It tasted delicious, but it wasn’t enough. Not nearly enough. He took the head in his mouth and sucked. Gellert’s breath hitched. Albus felt Gellert’s cock fill in his mouth, tasted the precome on his tongue. It wasn’t enough. He needed more. So much more. He let his mouth slide lower and lower, taking Gellert all the way down, until his nose was buried in the curls at the base of Gellert’s cock. He didn’t care that he was almost gagging, didn’t care that he could hardly breathe, didn’t care what this must look like or what it said about him. All that mattered was that the throbbing emptiness inside his chest was starting to calm down, starting to be filled. Though he knew - deep, deep down -that it still wasn’t enough.

He felt Gellert’s hands card softly through his hair.

”Enjoying yourself, Albus?” He asked huskily. ”Or are there things you’d enjoy even more? You know, all you have to do, is ask…”  
The room was pitch-black, but Albus still squeezed his eyes shut, as if what he was about to say would sound less humiliating if he couldn’t see it.  
He took his mouth off Gellert, and laid his head on his thigh again. In a raspy voice, he murmured: ”Could you… would it be alright for you to… make love to me? Please?”  
”Come here,” Gellert ordered.

Albus cast off the sheets and crawled up until he was laying face to face with Gellert again. A candle on Gellert’s bedside table lit itself, and floated above them. Soft, warm light flickered over the sheets, over their bodies, their faces. Albus was looking directly into Gellert’s hazel eyes. He couldn’t tell what was lurking there; maybe it was the light playing tricks, casting shadows and double meanings where there shouldn’t have been any. But he knew for sure what Gellert would see in his… He cast his eyes down. The room went dark again.”I’ll give you what you’re asking for. My Albus. Take off your nightshirt and lie down on your stomach.”  
  
Albus did as he was told. He waited, propped up on his elbows, his forehead resting on his clenched fists. Then, softly, fingers started stroking his back, following the curve of his spine, caressing him. Albus had to bite back a sob. The hands drifted lower, cupping his arse gently, before a tender kiss was pressed to his left buttock, then to his right.

”Lift your hips for me, will you.” Gellert whispered. Albus complied and a cushion was pushed under his hips, making his position more comfortable, as Gellert started to lick him.

This time, Albus did cry. He couldn’t bear it. He couldn’t bear Gellert being so gentle, so tender, so kind. In some dark, desperate part of his mind he prayed that this dark wizard – because that’s what Gellert was, who he was – would be brutal with him, would force himself on Albus. That all he could do was lie there, helpless and overpowered, so that afterwards – however excruciatingly painful such an afterwards would be – he would still be able to look himself in the eyes and say ”I never ever wanted this to happen. That man is a monster.”

But Gellert wasn’t being a monster, and Albus did want this.

Albus did want Gellert’s tongue licking at the rim of his hole and then prodding inside. He did want Gellert’s well-lubricated finger up his arse, teasing him open. He did want those fingers to find that – oh, yessss – that special spot inside him only Gellert had ever been allowed to touch. He did want Gellert to touch it, again and again and again. Albus moaned, despite himself.  
”You still like that, don’t you?” Gellert said huskily. ”But I think you want more”.

The fingers were removed and Albus whimpered at the loss, the emptiness.  
”Do you want me to fuck you, Albus?” Gellert asked, in a low voice.  
Albus mewled.  
”I need to hear it from you.”  
Albus’ chest constricted and he clenched his fists even tighter.  
”Yes, I want it.”  
”Want what?”  
Albus breathed heavily. He wished he could just dissolve into the mattress, never to be found again.  
”I-I want you… to fuck me.”

Gellert hummed. Albus heard him slick himself up. Then, the head of Gellert’s cock prodded at his hole, and Albus let him. Let Gellert enter him, let him have him in the most intimate of intimate ways, until he was buried balls deep inside Albus.  
Then, Gellert folded himself around him, his chest flush against Albus’ back, his nose pressed against his neck. This was Albus’ last chance at feeling overpowered, but he couldn’t bring himself to. He felt… safe. Gellert’s hands covered his own and finally, finally, there was the scent Albus had been chasing for years. That delicate scent of the hands of a dancer, of a beautiful young man, who had charmed Albus into dancing a whirling waltz together, one from which he had never stopped spinning.  
Albus swallowed heavily.

”Can I move?” said a voice against his neck.  
”Yes”, Albus breathed.  
Gellert didn’t thrust, but started grinding into Albus in the most delicious manner, teasing his prostate with every move of hips.  
Again, Albus should’ve been feeling a myriad of things - and he _did feel_ them in a very distant part of his shattered mind - but they were no match for the flames of pleasure, of passion that soared up high into the dark night-sky. He groaned. Everything around him, everything inside him – it was all Gellert. There was so much Gellert – and Albus couldn’t – for the life of him – understand how he had made it this far without him, without this.

”Harder,” he panted, ”Please, Gell. Harder.”

Gellert obliged, and the flames behind Albus’ eyes burst into fireworks, that became stars, that became a galaxy… Load moans spilled from his lips. He pressed his hips back hard against Gellert’s, while at the same time rubbing his cock against the cushion under him. He was so hard, so desperate, he needed to come, he needed to lose himself, lose himself forever. He grabbed one of Gellert’s hands, those beautiful, wonderful, powerful hands, that had killed and tortured and maimed hundreds if not thousands, and sucked on his fingers. Gellert cried out and bit down on his shoulder – and Albus came, came hard, in hot spurts and muffled screams and horribly twisted feelings. He must’ve pulled Gellert over the edge with him, because he heard Gellert scream and distantly felt him pulse inside him. But he was so exhausted, so worn out after all these days of sleeplessness and longing and self-reproach that he found couldn’t care anymore about what was happening around him or even with him. Still riding the last waves of his orgasm, he closed his eyes and let himself be washed away by the fatigue.

-

When Albus woke up again, the room was still dark. Everything was quiet, expect for the soft sound of Gellert’s breathing. Gellert must’ve repositioned him after he fell asleep, because his head was lying on a pillow and his body was wrapped in a warm blanket.  
He hardly noticed it.

He stood up and shuffled towards the writing desk. By now, he was so familiar with the room that he could navigate through it in the utter darkness of the night without so much as brushing against a chair or a door frame. He knelt in front of the desk, and slid his hand into the small gap between the drawers on the left side and the carpet, searching, searching…  
His fingers found the large shard of glass he’d hidden there after he’d smashed the crystal wine glass. He took it and made his way to the other side of the room where he used to sleep on the floor. He went to sit down, his back against the wall, his knees drawn up, the shard in his right hand.

He was naked. He didn’t care. He had been stripped of his magic a fortnight ago, and last night he had stripped himself of every shred of dignity he’d ever possessed. Who he was, what he believed in, what he stood for – he had readily sacrified it all and watched it burn, right down to the last flimsy thread. What difference would any clothes make now?  
He was cold. He didn’t care. Cold, heat, pain, they had all become irrelevant concepts. All that mattered, all that existed, was the hollowness inside him that stretched out for miles and miles and miles in all directions. A gratingly dark grey desert, devoid of all life, all colour, with only the gales of self-loathing to howl at him from time to time.

He stretched out his left arm in front of him, pressed the sharp tip of the shard in the flesh near the crease of his elbow and slid it all way up to his wrist, just below the tattoo. The cut wasn’t particularly deep, but already he felt blood well up beneath his fingertips, trickle down his forearm and drip into the carpet.

Albus didn’t make a sound. As the wound throbbed and pulsed, he felt the hollowness become glazed over with a warm fuzziness, as a drug, diluted in the blood that was slowly pouring out of his veins. When it was joined by lightheadedness, he lay down on his side, his left arm resting on the carpet, his right folded to his chest. Tears had started running down his cheeks, tears that didn’t just stem from the past two weeks, but ran back so much further in time. He didn’t mind. He was so close now. His eyes fluttered shut.

-

Albus hadn’t noticed the light starting to creep in through the cracks between the curtains. Only distantly, he registered the rustle of sheets, feet hitting the wooden floor, someone moving through the room.

” _Scheiße_ , Albus!” He forced his eyes open. He saw legs rushing towards him and a figure knelt down in front of him. It was Gellert. ”You’ve won, Gell,” Albus said feebly, and he smiled, despite himself. ”You were right. I will never be able to resist you, no matter what you do.” His eyes fluttered shut again.  
  
”No! Albus, Al, Alchen, stay here. Stay with me.”

Gellert carefully lifted Albus’ left arm and Albus felt the tip of the Elder Wand being pressed softly into the flesh. The distant throbbing didn’t stop.  
  
”Albus, _Schätzchen_ , what have you done to yourself? _Discatena_!”

Something vaguely familiar rushed over him. His… magic. Albus opened his eyes slightly. The tattoo on his left wrist had vanished, and – he didn’t have the energy to turn his head – he supposed the one on his right had as well.

”Albus, _Liebling_ , you’re going to have to help me with this. I can’t do this alone. Please, my darling. My love. Please, don’t leave me. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.”

Albus noticed how Gellert’s hands, his beautiful hands, were shaking. And despite all the fuzziness, he found he still wanted those hands, wanted them to hold him, to cherish him. He reached out with his right hand.

”What is it, love, what do you want? Tell me.”

”Your hand.” Albus croaked.

Gellert laid his left hand in Albus’ right, and Albus pressed it to his cheek. The smell of the palms of the hands of a dancer, the moment he guides you back to the dance floor.

The throbbing diminshed. He heard Gellert let out a shuddering breath as the gaping wound on his arm started to heal.

”Albus, can I… is it alright if use my magic on you?”

Albus nodded, his eyes closed, holding Gellert’s hand firmly against his cheek, a contented smile on his haggard face.

Gellert took Albus’ left hand in his right, and pressed their palms together, and it took every ounce of his willpower not to cry out in agony – Albus’ magic was so feeble, the pulse of it so sluggish, so listless…

Very gently, Gellert started to wrap his own magic around Albus, bandaging first his left arm, then moving up to his upper arm, his shoulder – he couldn’t reach the unspeakable emptiness that made up the entirety of his chest, but he could try to swaddle it in layers and layers of tenderness, of kindness, of love, until perhaps – almost by accident – little fragments of it would find their way into that hollowness, make it whole again.

Albus’ breathing had evened out, and he was leaning more and more into Gellert’s hand.

Gellert stretched himself out on the floor next him, wandlessly summoned over a blanket and watched as Albus drifted off into a deep sleep, his hand still clutching Gellert’s.

-

The following days, Gellert cancelled all his activities. He stayed in his room, lying next to Albus in his bed, pressing his back against his own chest, holding him for hours and hours. He couldn’t look at him, though, couldn’t bear to meet his eyes.

On the fourth day, lying close to each other, Albus said, in a detached voice: ”Gellert, I’d like to leave. To go back to Hogwarts.”  
Gellert closed his eyes. ”You’re free to go, Albus, whenever you like. I have your wand here, I’ll give you a portkey. Whatever you need.” Albus slowly removed himself from Gellert’s embrace and put on his shoes.

He sat silently on the edge of the bed, staring out at the snow-capped mountains outside while Gellert got his wand and fetched him a warm, fur-lined coat.  
”Gellert?”  
”Yes, Albus?”  
”I’ve noticed that there’s still one tiny forget-me-not tattooed on my right wrist, right above the pulse point.”  
Gellert cleared his throat.  
”Yes, I… it doesn’t do anything. I promise. It’s just…”  
”I don’t mind,” Albus interrupted him, his voice distant, ”I was just curious.”

They made their way through a long marble corridor, until they reached the heavy front door.  
”Here you go,” Gellert said and handed Albus a shining red copy of ’An Anthology of Contemporary English Poetry’. He looked at the ground, his hands clasped behind his back.  
”Turn to page 34, and it will take you to Hogwarts.”  
”What’s on page 34?”  
”A poem by W.H. Auden.”  
”Okay. Well then, goodbye Gellert.”

Albus was about to open the book, when Gellert grabbed his hands. Albus looked at him.  
”Don’t. I mean. Not yet. I just want to – before you go”  
Gellert took a deep breath.  
”I… Nobody ever needs to know about this. I won’t tell anyone. Never. I promise. I… Albus. I’m so sorry. So, so very sorry. I should never have…”

Albus looked at the hands holding his own. On Gellert’s right wrist, just above his pulse point, there was this tattoo of a small, sky-blue flower.  
Gellert followed his gaze and his hands tightened around Albus’.  
For the first time since that dreadful morning he looked Albus straight into the eyes.  
”I know you’ll likely never be able to forgive me. And I understand that. But please, promise me that you let me know if you ever think about… leaving again. Doesn’t matter when, any time, day or night. Promise me.”  
He pressed a soft kiss on Albus’ knuckles.  
Albus’ thumb brushed over the back of Gellert’s hand.  
”I will.”


End file.
